


The Inventor's Keeper

by KevlarMasquerade (nightsstarr)



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Cass is there too, F/M, brief hints of TimSteph not related to the plot, old west au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-11-30 11:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11462766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightsstarr/pseuds/KevlarMasquerade
Summary: Old West AU. Barbara Gordon, the sheriff's daughter, has recently lost the use of her legs. Dick Grayson is doing everything he can to be there for her, even if she's having trouble accepting his help.





	The Inventor's Keeper

Hooves thundered over dry, packed dirt as Dick Grayson made his way to the Gotham saloon. He tethered his horse to the pole outside, checking the trough for fresh water, and he pushed the doors to the saloon open, boots clacking over real wood floors.

The lighting was dim, and he tipped his hat back to ease the shadow it threw over his eyes. His arrival was met with a nod from Timothy, his adoptive younger brother who happened to be sweet on the barmaid.

“Howdy, Steph,” he greeted the blonde woman behind the bar. “How’s things?”

“Same’s always,” she said in a thick drawl, which was mostly a show for guests. “How’s about a pretty tip, circus boy?”

“Maybe once I buy something.” He winked at her, which only made her roll her eyes. “Barbara around?”

“Upstairs, with Cassandra. Don’t you pester her, Dickie Grayson,” Steph warned, brandishing a disapproving finger at him. “She’s been workin’ on that wheely contraption o’ hers since you been gone.”

“You know me, Steph,” Dick assured her, grabbing a handful of nuts off a bowl on the bar as he passed to approach the stairs. “I don’t pester nobody nohow.”

“You tell your brother that them nuts’re for payin’ customers only, Timmy,” Dick heard her scold as he rounded the landing on the stairs, and he could just make out Timothy spluttering his drink in nervous surprise.

“Babsie,” Dick called, knocking on her door with one arm curled behind his back. “Open up!”

The door creaked open and Dick stepped in. “Thanks, Cassandra.”

Cassandra was an odd type. She was foreign, Asian by the slant of her eyes although what type specifically they could only speculate about since she didn’t talk at all. She blew into town one day and took a shine to Barbara, and they’d been almost inseparable ever since. Barbara was trying to teach her to speak, but that project got curbed after the incident.

The incident. It made Dick sad to think about. Some outlaw running from the big city—called himself the Joker—got in some kind of beef with the Sheriff, Barbara’s father, and the outlaw took it out on her. She was shot in the back and she lost the use of her legs.

It was lucky that she had Cassandra to help her, who was insisted on waiting on her hand and foot. At first, Barbara seemed real depressed, and it took Cassandra hours to get her to voluntarily eat. But she became determined, had Dick and Timothy running from here to the Appalachians getting supplies for her, all metal and expensive rubber.

Dick had been focusing on his own project—getting Barbara her legs back. The best doctor this side of the Mississippi told them it couldn’t be done, but Dick wasn’t easily swayed by professional types.

“Cassandra, could you give us a minute?” Dick asked, his voice soft so she would know it was important.

The girl didn’t move, but she looked to Barbara for instruction.

“It’s okay, Cass. Dick will come get you when he leaves. He won’t be more than a quarter of an hour, right Grayson?”

He didn’t answer her, but he bowed his head and waited for Cassandra to slip out of the room quietly the way she did.

“Babsie,” he muttered, looking through the ends of his hair that dipped over his eyelashes.

She was sitting on stacked mattresses, and the chair that belonged with the desk she was hunched over had been pushed to the side of the room. It must have been hurting her. An odd contraption was at the side of the desk, a deformed chair with an axle like the bottom of a carriage.

“Not giving up on the wheeled chair, huh?”

She tilted her face toward him, the firelight reflecting off her glasses. “Of course I’m not. Did you you think I would?”

“I know it’s not like you to give up on anything. Well, almost anything.”

“Dick,” she warned, her voice sharp. “I told you, I’m done discussing that.”

“I found someone, Babsie. Found a real genius. He’s a day and half away by horse, probably more by carriage—but he’s a real savior, Babsie.”

The metal tool she was holding clattered against the hard wood of the desk as she set it down. “I told you a week ago, I’m not interested. I don’t much appreciate that you went looking after I told you that.”

“Babsie, trust me. He calls himself the Calculator, cause he’s so smart he’s always calculating, see—He showed me. He makes people out of metal parts and clockwork, calls ‘em automatons. He can make you leg parts and you—”

“Shut up, Grayson,” she growled, clutching at the desk.

“Babs…”

“I don’t want clockwork legs,” she snapped, her voice ringed with emotion. “I want my own legs back. And in the meantime, I want a wheeled chair so I can get around.”

“This is better than a wheeled chair!” he urged, kneeling on the mattress behind her and bowing his head so his forehead met the curve of her neck. “This is legs, Babsie.”

“It’s not legs.” She shook him off, toying with the tool on the desk, which he could see was littered with spare parts. “It’s braces that’ll force me to stand with some fancy clockwork tacked on.”

“It’s a miracle,” Dick breathed, and his breath brushed over the junction of her neck and shoulder.

“I don’t want miracles. They come with too-high prices.” Her voice was bitter and hard.

“Dammit, Babs,” he swore, standing quickly. “I’m trying to help you walk again. That’s what you want isn’t it?”

She ignored him and strained to reach her chair. It was on the floor just out of her reach, probably put there by Cassandra.

“I want to marry you, Babsie.” His voice was soft as he watched her, red hair escaping its knot at the back of her head, glasses slipping from her nose. “I want to marry you like we planned.”

“You know my answer.” She strained again, stretching her waist and her arms, reaching until her fingers brushed the bottom of the disfigured chair, but he thought it looked like she was using the action as an excuse to turn her face away.

“I know. Not until you walk again.” Resigned, he shifted so that he was on the other side of her and pushed the heavy frame of her wheeled chair so it was closer to her fingers. “I’m trying to help you walk again, Barbara. Take my help.”

“Strapping clockwork abominations to my legs is not the same as walking,” she snapped. Her hair escaped its clips as she whirled to face him, the red of her hair framing her face, accentuating the line of her mouth and the flush in her cheek, punctuating her anger. “If you don’t understand that, Grayson, then I suggest you leave.”

He clenched his jaw, at a loss for words, but he lifted himself moodily from her stacked mattresses. “I’m not giving up on you, Babsie,” he said over his shoulder as he approached the door. The handle felt cool under his fingers, and he gripped it so tight his knuckles turned white. “Even if you want me to.”

He wrenched the door open, surprised to meet a mess of dark hair and a solemn expression. He let out an exclamation of surprise before collecting himself. “Sorry, Cassandra. I wasn’t expecting you there.” Mustering a weak smile, he put his hand on her shoulder.

Nodding to show that it was all right, she slipped past him into Barbara’s room, closing the door behind her.

Dick dug his fingers beneath the cravat tied to his throat, which he used to pull over his mouth while riding over the dusty terrain on horseback. He was going to see Calculator again, purchase some parts from him, see if he couldn’t persuade Babs to see things his way. But for now, he sure could use a drink, and he knew a blonde barlady who fancied a tip.


End file.
